Neither Did He
by lovefromhogwarts
Summary: Ron needs help with his essay, and begs an irritated Hermione for help. However, despite her annoyed front, Hermione consents. And naturally, this action ends with fluffy results. Set during OotP.


"Hermione, there's no way I can do this." Ron whined to the girl on his left. Amused, she looked at him.

"Ron, it's an _essay_, not a marathon."

"What's a marathon?" He asked after a moment. "Is it a muggle thing?"

"Er- yeah." Hermione blushed; she'd never heard of a wizarding marathon, so she supposed it wasn't shocking Ron hadn't heard of it.

"Well, don't mention it to my dad, he'll try and make you explain every detail." This comment caused her to crack a smile. "Now will you help me with my essay?"

Looking around in vain, she realized she had lost her distraction. Harry was off doing some horrible detention and Ginny was, well, snogging someone. Even Neville or anyone else who could throw him off were distracted. "Why don't you do it yourself?" She asked evenly. "You're perfectly capable of writing an essay, that is, if you apply yourself."

"'Mione, you know I'm rubbish at DADA." He persisted. "Well, with Umbridge's teachings." Ron added as an afterthought.

"You're supposed to learn in school." She said severely, looking at him. Anyone watching from afar could see Ron squirm slightly under her intense gaze.

"This isn't learning, it's bloody torture." He burst out, throwing the textbook at the floor. "Read the page four times for maximum retention, then write an essay comprehending the information. How is this defense?" Hermione reached for his arm, hoping to calm him down.

"I agree, it's more like a language arts class than a defense one. But we've got the DA, remember? And also... there's a flaw in her Ministry plan. I read a study this summer that says you should do things at least seven times for maximum retention."

"Don't tell her that. If I read this-" "RON!" "- even one more time, I might strangle someone. Preferably Malfoy or You-Know-Who..."

Neither one of them had realized Hermione still had her hand gently on Ron's arm. Awkwardly, Ron looked down at her hand and she withdrew it quickly. His ears burned a colour rivaling the armchair he was sitting in while Hermione hid her blushing behind her hair. "Please?" He asked finally. Sighing, she pulled out her essay and tossed it from here.

"No copying. Paraphrase, at the very least. And just so you know, I'm only doing this because that class is completely useless."

He feigned a shocked gasp. "Did Miss Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Prefect and future Head Girl, just proclaim a class 'useless'?"

"Yes, yes I did." She snapped, slightly irritated. "Divination was the same way. 'Her inner eye'... honestly."

"One would have to be an idiot to think that class wasn't created just to vent Trelawney's insomnia."

"Speaks volumes about my charming roommates, doesn't it?" Hermione smirked as Ron chuckled.

"Indeed." He turned to the essays and began working reluctantly. She took this opportunity to watch him. Her eyes looked over him, pausing to take in his feiry red hair and blue eyes. When he glanced at her, a few minutes after setting back to work, she quickly averted her eyes and began to blush. As the clock ticked by, the two friends unconciously were getting closer to one another. When Ron finally finished, Hermione was practically snuggling against him. To be honest, he really liked it. She was warm and soft and... her hair smelled faintly like fruit. Strawberries, perhaps? Or maybe that was raspberry. He didn't dare mention how close they were; he always ended up screwing something up and she'd back away, like always. "'Mione?" He murmured into the darkness of the nearly empty common room.

"Yes?" She whispered back.

"Thanks." Cautiously, he planted a shy kiss on top of her head. Hermione flushed with pleasure, but scooted even closer to show him she wasn't upset. Relieved that she wasn't going to rage or feel too awkward about it, he let out a sigh. Moments passed between the two as she leaned her head on his shoulder and he had tilted his own head against hers. Once she finally felt she could speak, Hermione asked quietly, "Ron?"

"Ron?" She repeated gently. Her response was steady breathing coming from Ron. Gently, she pushed him over gently so they were laying out on the sofa. However, Hermione let her head stay on his shoulder as his heartbeat and breathing soothed her. Before she knew it, she was drifting to sleep, her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

A heart that beat for her.

(Not that she knew that.)

(And in a way, neither did he.)


End file.
